Where We'll Be
by AnaElise
Summary: Fiona is gone. Locked up in a prison not on any tourist map, for a crime she did not commit. But when a mystery man visits Fiona in prison, everything changes. How far will Fiona go to try and find happiness with the only man she has  ever truly loved?
1. Prologue

I have done many, arguably, illegal things throughout my lifetime.

With the lifestyle I've lead, prison was always a possibility, but I can't say I ever imagined that I'd be put into prison for a crime that I didn't actually commit.

It was Anson that killed those British embassy guards, and despite the fact that I will always feel partially responsible for their deaths, I did not plant the bombs that killed them. I will not be a person who kills those who are innocent. Claire was innocent, and yet some low life solider killed her in cold blood, destroying my family. I refuse to allow another family to go through what I went through.

I also won't kill anyone who has never hurt me personally. I will not be anyone's mercenary. People who kill for money lose a part of themselves in the process, and I won't lose my humanity for a few thousand dollars.

But despite all this, I now sit in a federal prison hole, somewhere not on any tourist map. It's dark, and I suddenly have a huge craving for yogurt.

They've kept me in this dark cell and won't allow me to talk to anyone. Although, it's not like I'm in a chatty mood. I think that they believe if they keep me in a dark room, then I won't try anything to escape. But truthfully, they could hold open the front door and I still wouldn't leave.

This whole Anson situation needs to be settled, and if I need to be the fall guy for it, so be it.

Prison isn't the worst thing that could happen to me; watching Michael cross a line he can't come back from, all for me, that would be torture.

I can't watch him become Larry, where there are no lines, no boundaries. He would have burned all those people just to keep me out of jail. And as much as this would have thrilled me that he chose me over his job a few years ago, now things have changed.

I've changed.

Everything's changed.

"Food's here."

A gruff voice that announces my meals is the only human interaction I have during the day anymore.

In the beginning there were a lot of interviews; interviews about Anson and Michael and my activities over the past decade.

I've told a lot of lies over my lifetime but the truth was oddly freeing.

It's funny, with Michael, the truth is never spoken. At least not the truth about feelings. And even facts are often skewed to fit the situation.

I told them everything. I gave them everything. And I prayed that Michael did the same. Then maybe this nightmare would be over.

The only thing that helped me fall asleep at night, on this old, lumpy mattress, was the fact that maybe my testimony would send Anson to a similar fate. Not that I would ever know anything. Governments don't tend to be sympathetic to the knowledge needs of their prisoners.

I looked around my barren cell. Where ever I was, it wasn't any ordinary prison. I guess when you're a criminal with an Interpol file as colorful as mine, you get put in a prison without a zip code. My cell was a standard 15 x 20 with no windows. It was fully equipped with a sink, a toilet and a cot that smelled of sweat, blood and tears. The steel door was rusted and creaked whenever it opened.

"Fiona Glenanne."

This was a new voice. It was low and authoritative, definitely a government type. I could almost picture him in my mind. He would be tall, with a dark cheap suit and shaved.

As he stepped into my cell, through the creaky steel door, I realized my mistake. He wasn't a government type but he was close. He was still tall, still shaved but his suit was anything but cheap. It would be an easy mistake to make if you didn't know the difference. But this mystery man had a custom tailored suit.

He wasn't a government type, he was in the private sector.

"Good evening, Ms. Glenanne."

I didn't get up from my bed. I just continued to lay on my back, legs bent, reading 'A Tale of Two Cities.'

Before Claire died I loved to read. We shared a bed in a tiny room that resembled a closet, and I would often read to her before she fell asleep. Classic stories like Jane Eyre, Tess of the d'Urbervilles and The Grapes of Wrath.

A Tale of Two Cities had been her favorite.

I hadn't read it since her death.

Life in prison gave you a lot of free time; I figured I might as well get some reading done.

"I have a proposition for you, Ms. Glenanne. I hope you'll hear me out"

I smirked. "I've already talked to all those nice agents from every acronym in the government, but I assume you're from something more private, Mr…"

"Adams, and you're right, I'm from a private company, Hanson Associates, and we often work with government agencies doing things that they cannot."

Now this was an intriguing turn of events. I finally put my book down and sat up. I got a quick look at myself in the cracked mirror above the sink. I was a far cry from what I had once been. My hair was ragged and limp and my face looked more sunken in.

Appearances aren't as important when all you have to wear is an orange jumpsuit and the one person you would try and impress is never going to see you again.

"Why are you here, Mr. Adams?"

"I told you, I have a proposition for you."

* * *

><p>Authors Note: So, this has been sitting in my documents folder for a while along with a few other chapters. I usually like to have a story done before I post it so that I know that it'll be finished and I won't end up having no idea where to go with it. But with this story I was really worried that I'd never get the time to completely finish it before the new season came out so I figured heck with it and post the beginning anyway and deal with it later. Anyway, you really didn't need to know that whole story. But this is my authors note and I can do with it what I wish.<p>

Back to relevant information. So this is a kind of dry prologue but it does get better, (I think, I haven't written it yet) but I'll throw it out there and see what you think and continue posting chapters at my leisure, even if it's not at yours. Love and sparkles!


	2. Out of the fire

"Why are you here, Mr. Adams?"

"I told you, I have a proposition for you."

* * *

><p>As Mr. Adams stepped out of the shadows, I saw more of his features. He has short brown hair and a well cut chin. He had a physique of a man who spent a lot of his time in the action. This man had a look of secrets about it. He actually reminded me a lot of Michael.<p>

"As I said, I work for a company that works outside government limitations. We have heard a lot about you, Ms. Glenanne, and your situation, and we're here to help."

"For a price, I suppose." I know how these games work. I had already been blackmailed once. Anson took over our lives. We were the unwilling puppets in his sick play. But not anymore. I will choose how I live my life, even if that means I will live it in this dark cell.

So instead, I laid back down and picked up my book again.

"I'm not interested in whatever you have to offer. It was nice to meet you Mr. Adams."

He sighed and crossed his arms across his well muscled chest.

"There is a price, but I assure you that you will be at least interested in the terms. I implore you to at least hear me out."

I didn't look at him but I did put my book down. I guess he took this as a sign to continue.

"My company is interested in your talents and would like to take you on as an employee. You would be taken on as contract employee as a preliminary measure and then, after a specified amount of time, you progress would be reviewed and you could be employed full time."

"So, I suppose I would be working from the comforts of my cell?"

I laughed at this. Michael is the patient one, the one who does research by looking into files all before taking the first step. That stuff is important, don't get me wrong, but I prefer the action. They must be working off some really bad information if they think that I'd be interested, or even that I'd be all that good at it.

"The company that I work for, Ms. Glenanne, is very powerful. We've been talking to those in charge of your incarceration and are currently working on the papers for your release, provided, of course, that you accept the terms of our conditions."

I glared at this supposed Mr. Adams before standing up and crossing to the other side of my cell.

"I see." I hugged my arms around my thinning frame as I glared at the cement blocks of my cell. "You get me out of jail and I get to be your mercenary for life." I turned around to face him, my face betraying my disgust with such an offer. "Thanks, but no thanks. I pick the jobs and I do them for me, not for some faceless company out to make money. I won't be used like that."

I was fuming. Did people think they could treat me like this? That they could use me and my skills for their own purpose and power?

"You misunderstand me. Hanson Associates is a security consulting firm, much like the one your friend, Mr. Porter, works for, only on a much larger scale. We work on an international level, mostly solving problems for big companies, private citizens, or entire countries. We work very hard to keep body counts low so any mercenary work would be very limited or possibly non-existent. We prefer our anonymity, you understand, and piles of dead bodies tend to compromise that. In fact, there are some within our firm that believed your tactics were too, shall we say, explosive, for the work we normally do. However, there were others, myself included, that believe that your eclectic skills were too valuable to pass up."

He set down his briefcase on my bed, opened it, and began to take out some papers.

"We are a different kind of company in that we take on employees that most people wouldn't trust, like say, ex-IRA guerilla fighters, rebel forces leaders that no longer have a cause to fight for, released prisoners, even some burned spies."

He handed me a file with some pictures of supposed jobs they had done, a few newspaper articles, and what I guessed was a working contract.

"We use the skills of those whom some would dub criminals and turn them into problem solvers. Overall the results tend to promote peace but our methods work a lot faster than the bureaucrats talking at peace conferences."

I quickly flipped through some more of the pictures. "This file really doesn't show me much, Mr. Adams. I don't know what you're trying to convince me of by giving it to me. Anyone can throw some pictures in a file and call it peace keeping."

"You're right of course, and I certainly don't expect an answer right away. Feel free to do your own research. You will be given a computer and a cell phone within the hour, and anything else you might need you just need to ask. I assume you know some of the people in those pictures, so that was the reason for giving you the file. Also inside the file is a contract that we expect all our employees to sign. You will note that there is a clause that allows you to turn down a job for any reason at any time during a mission. My employers do not want to employ mercenaries nor do they want to blackmail anyone into working for them. We want your skills Ms. Glenanne, but there are horror stories floating around about people who have gotten on the wrong side of your ire, and no one wants to be there when you find a way to escape the blackmail and come to extract revenge."

I smirked at that. The guy had obviously done his research and as I looked at some of the pictures more closely I realized I did recognize a few of the men in some of the pictures. These were old family friends, people I hadn't talked to in decades, but good men who were good at what they did. This might be worth looking into.

But there was still a seed of doubt in the back of my mind. This was a very nice offer, something that definitely seemed too good to be true, with no strings attached thus far.

If only I my H&K. I always felt better shooting something in these situations.

"I'm sure you have a lot to think about Ms. Glenanne. If you have any questions feel free to call me, my number will be in the cell phone provided to you. We'll also leave you a small tool kit so that you can check the phone and the laptop for bugs. I'll be back next week for your answer."

He turned walked out of my cell, the cell door closing with a bang as the locks clicked back into place. The folder of information was left on my bed.

My mind was reeling. I knew companies like this Hanson Associates existed, and I also knew people who worked within the confines of the private sector. Jesse had now been working for a private company for almost a year. He seemed to enjoy his new line of work, as well as the perks that came with it.

We talked shortly after he started working privately and I asked him about the change. After all, he was so angry about being burned and so determined to get back in, much like Michael. And then, after everything that happened, his name was cleared and he was no longer burned, he threw it all away.

_"Well yea, I mean, being burned sucked. I was thrown out in the cold, figuratively at least, and abandoned by the country I had sworn to protect. But working with you guys, I guess, it just gave me a new perspective. I was seeing the changes I made happen in other people's lives. I was using my mind and my skills instead of some fancy tech. I could act when I wanted instead of waiting for things to go "up the chain of command." I liked that I had the control of the information I was getting, instead of it going off to be analyzed and never seen again. I don't know, I guess... I guess I would say that being burned was the best thing that could have happened to me. Just don't ever tell Michael that, don't want him getting a big head and all."_

But the difference between Jesse and I is that he chose to work for the private sector, while in my case, Hanson Associates would be getting me out so that I could work for them. They would own me.

The term, "out of the frying pan and into the fire" came to mind.

I had just escaped Anson's strong hold only to be placed under the thumb of one Mr. Adams.

Was it worth the risk?

A knock on the large steel door interrupted my musings. The door swung own a moment later, the squeak of the metal grated on my ears. An older man with thinning hair and a stern face walked in. He was not very tall, but he had a presence about him that suggested he was a powerful man.

"You must have powerful friends. A very large package just arrived for you with strict instructions that it be set up quickly, and that my guards should be instructed to get you anything else that you needed, should you ask."

I just stared at the older man, who I assumed to be the warden.

"I don't like taking orders from strangers in my own prison, Ms. Glenanne, but it appears that I don't have much of a choice in the matter."

And with that, he walked out of my cell, past two other guards holding various sized boxes. The guards came in and began opening the boxes containing my laptop, a wireless router, and various other technological devices that were obviously the best that money could buy, and began the tedious set up process.

I had a lot to think about, and the fact that the warden himself came to deliver this message spoke volumes about the caliber of people involved in Hanson Associates.

I had a feeling that this Mr. Adams, would be occupying a lot of my thoughts for the next week.


	3. Into the flame

Authors Note: First off, thank you to all who have reviewed thus far. I usually try and respond to each and every review, but I've been busy with school and got distracted half way through my responses. Just know that I treasure each and every review as though they were freshly made cookies.

Just as an FYI, I re-did chapters one and two. There's nothing drastically different, the main ideas are still the same, I just cleaned up some transitions and quotes and added some details. You might not even notice any differences but if you do feel so inclined know that they are there and I feel better about them. Now, onto Michael's point of view.

* * *

><p>It has been two years now.<p>

Two years without her voice, her touch, her unique scent.

Two insufferable years.

The first couple months I don't even remember. I woke up, ate a little, worked out, and slept. These days were often interrupted by visits from Sam, Jesse and my mother, all trying to get me to go out, or help with a job.

Nate even stopped by once. He had Charlie with him, and I think this was some kind of ploy to try and get me to react to something. I think they thought that I might find some meaning in my crying nephew. Nate stayed for an hour, and when he realized his tactics weren't working, he asked me for twenty dollars and then left.

They didn't understand.

No one understood.

Fiona has been with me in Miami from the beginning. She was there when I woke up and has been there ever since. Without her, it's like I'm back in Afghanistan; in a cave with no one who speaks the right language.

Fiona and I didn't need words to communicate, we didn't even need facial expressions or gestures, we just knew.

She was my other half, and without her there was nothing.

I tried for the first few weeks after her arrest, to get her back.

I did everything right.

I went to Pearce right after I saw the last of Fi. I did what she wanted and I told Pearce everything. Everything about Anson, Management and the network of burned spies. She wasn't happy that I kept everything from her, but she felt a lot better than she would have if the FBI had just sprung this on her.

It took eight, sixteen hour days of debriefing and statements. Sam and Jesse were questioned, even my mother was brought in, but I had the majority of Pearce's time.

There were no more secrets in my life.

It felt good.

But then all the questions came to an end and I got a lot of, "we'll be in touch."

Sam talked to his buddies but Fi wasn't in the normal channels. She wasn't registered in any of the federal prisons. I asked Pearce but even she wasn't privy to that kind of information.

Fi was gone.

And I was left with nothing.

Oddly enough it was one of Fiona's stupid plants that brought me back. Fiona had put a few plants throughout the loft to spruce it up and make it feel like the home that it was when she was in it. I rolled my eyes but let her do what she wanted, because as long as she was in the loft it was home.

After two months of not being watered, it inevitability died and I was left with several dead houseplants. For some reason I thought about how pissed Fiona would be if she came back and saw what a wreck the place was, so I started cleaning.

When the loft was somewhat presentable again I got a shower and shaved the massive accumulation of hair off my face, put on my Armani suit, and went to Carlito's.

From there, I started taking jobs here and there with Sam, and things proceeded as relatively normal as they could without one of the main members of our team.

After about a year, I started talking with Pearce more seriously about getting my old job back. And after tons of paperwork and psych evaluations, I was cleared for some minor duties and I even got my former security clearance back.

It was strange, to say the least. When I first got back to Miami after being burned, I wanted nothing more to get back into the good graces of the CIA and get as far away from my hometown and ex-girlfriend as possible. Now though, the CIA was more of a hobby than a full time job. My real job was helping Sam, Jesse and my mother help the down-on-their-luck citizens of Miami, and any other spare time was spent tracking down leads on Fi's whereabouts.

But this is my life now, and it is a far cry from anything I ever wanted it to be.

I now realize that Fiona has been the piece of my life that I never knew I needed, but now can't stand to be without. There's a giant crater that has been blown out of my life and without Fi it will never be filled again. I've spent so much of my life denying what she is to me because I was afraid of everything that I feel for her.

I was afraid that I would fall in love with her. And the only example of "love" I ever saw ended with a punch to side of the face.

I feel that part of my father inside me all the time, lurking there, looking for a reason to come out and strike. But there's a much bigger piece of me that Fi has created, along with Sam, Jesse and even my mother and Nate. That piece of me has shown me that there's more to people than manipulation, anger, violence and apologies. People can be trusted and loved. And I know now that I do love Fi, more than anything.

It's typical that the second I make this drastic discovery about myself, is the same second that I see the love of my life being lead away in handcuffs.

But I can't just stay in the loft and be miserable without her. I have too much talent and skills to have them be wasted away. So instead of mourning her in solitude, I keep busy and try not to think about her out in public. I keep my mind on the task at hand, the client, and the mark.

At the present moment, the mark is a shady business man who is the largest distributor of weapons sold to the Syrian government. The weapons are then being used on Syrian rebel forces, as well as innocent women and children caught in the crosshairs, to try and dissuade a political uprising.

The business man is a Spaniard named Álvaro de Luna. The CIA wants to stop all the weapons transactions going in to Syria to try and allow for peace talks to begin, but to do that they first need the name of de Luna's supplier. I have been spying on de Luna for the past three days in his flat in San Sebastian, but so far all I have found is that he has quite the taste for younger women.

It's quite disconcerting watching such a large, old, unattractive murderer pay for such disgusting acts with girls no older than twenty. The CIA had sprung for an apartment across the street with a convenient view into de Luna's bedroom window, so I had had to resign myself to watch these scenes several times a day since I had arrived in San Sebastian.

For the past two hours de Luna had been looking for his next fix at the closest beach. He and the women were heading back towards his apartment arm in arm along the sidewalk. de Luna seemed to be taking his time walking back, and by the smirk on his face he was enjoying showing off the woman on his arm and thinking about the things that were to come.

His newest conquest seems to be much more attractive than his last few ladies. From what I can see she has beautiful long, tanned legs and a petite, thin frame. Her face is hidden by a large, white sun hat that matched her flowing Spanish dress.

As I was preparing myself for the repellant images I was about to endure, the young woman turned around and removed her sun hat. As she flipped her hair back I saw a face I didn't think I'd ever see again. My mouth hung open as I jumped out of my chair and ran to place my whole body up against the glass of the window. The binoculars I was using were bearing into my eye sockets. I thought I was seeing things.

Right before she and de Luna were about to cross the threshold into the apartment complex, she turned around to sensually kiss him on the cheek, and in that moment she looked up from the sidewalk to glance directly up towards my hiding spot on the 17th floor.

She winked.

The one woman who had occupied my dreams and thoughts for the past two years was standing, just seventeen floors below me, about to have sex with a man that I was supposed to interrogate and take into custody.

As she and de Luna disappeared into the complex, all my thoughts about training and strategy left me. I ran out of my apartment, with my only thought being that I had to get to her.

I had to get to Fiona.


	4. A New Resolve

I stared at all the equipment that now adorned my cell. It was overwhelming, and too good to be true.

I was at a loss.

Before I came to Miami, all those years ago, I considered myself this strong, independent women, who didn't need a man to help me live my life. But now, I feel incomplete without Michael beside me.

Not that I can't take care of myself, but I feel as if Michael is my better half. He grounds me in a way that I stop and think about my actions instead of doing what comes naturally to me, which is blowing everything sky high with some artfully placed C4.

While I do still maintain that my way does work well in many cases, Michael's slow, controlled and patient approach does have its own charm.

We balance each other. Sometimes Michael needs to be more spontaneous and sometimes I need to be more controlled. It's a beautiful equation we've perfected while we're working cases together, but now I'm on my own.

I don't have Michael's calculated risk taking abilities and creative mind, however I do know that this is not the time to wire everything to explode.

But I do have a cell phone.

The answer was so blindingly simple I can't believe I didn't think of it first.

I dive for the phone like it is a cool cup of water in the desolate desert, my fingers shaking from the anticipation of simply hearing his voice.

I press in the numbers of his last cell phone. I hope that he hasn't changed it. I pray that he still had it on him. Those precious seconds it took for the phone to connect were the longest seconds I have ever experienced.

And then I hear it.

"_The number you have reached is unavailable. Please hang up and try again"_

No. No, no, no! This is my one chance, my only chance to hear his voice, to talk to him, to tell him I'm sorry.

Anger courses through my veins. How could this be happening to me? I grip the phone tightly, I want to throw it. As I look down at the screen to try and make the call again I see that there is a voicemail.

I call the voicemail and I hear the smooth baritone of Mr. Adams.

"Ms. Glenanne. As I'm sure you've already found out, you are not able to call Mr. Westen. This is a regrettable situation, but since the case of Dr. Fullerton is still open, the FBI and CIA will not allow contact between you and Mr. Westen until the investigation is completed. This was one of the terms of your release and, unfortunately, we were not able to negotiate on this particular matter. I would have told this to you earlier, but I would much rather you destroy a cell phone than any appendage of mine. You will find that Mr. Axe, Mr. Porter, and Mrs. Westen also have blocks on their numbers and I would dissuade you from trying to call any slight acquaintances. You are in a precarious situation, Ms. Glenanne. The FBI would much rather have you rot in that prison than do you any favors. I am sticking my neck out for you, Ms. Glenanne. Believe me, there are worse friends that you could have than me."

The message ends with a click.

This Mr. Adams wants me to trust him.

And the scariest part is, I'm considering it.

I take a deep breath. I wipe away the tear that was slowly making its way down my cheek.

My prayers were not answered. Michael would not be here to save me, or help me analyze this strange, new situation I have found myself in. I am alone.

But I am anything but helpless.

I had these new found tools, and this new opportunity. My life is in my control again. Even if I don't take Mr. Adams offer, it will be my decision, my choice. And if I do take the offer, and it isn't what I want, then I will blow everyone to hell and back for trying to manipulate me again.

I sit up straight on my sad, lumpy mattress. I can feel the new found determination and resolve flow through me. This is my chance. I can sit here feeling sorry for myself, and wait for something to happen and someone to save me, or I can do something myself.

I realized that I had been feeling sorry for myself about everything that had happened and had resigned myself that I deserved this cage.

Anson caused this. Anson is the one at fault. I shouldn't allow my skills and talents to be wasted away between these blocks of concrete. I needed to act.

I got up off my bed and headed to the computer.

I had some research to do.

* * *

><p>Authors Note: I know this is short but it's a necessary chapter showing Fiona's change back to her kick ass self. Thank you to all who have reviewed so far! Your reviews are like a glass of wine and a comfy chair after a long day. More to come... eventually.<p> 


	5. Lovers Unite

The one woman who had occupied my dreams and thoughts for the past two years was standing, just seventeen floors below me, about to have sex with a man that I was supposed to interrogate and take into custody.

As she and de Luna disappeared into the complex, all my thoughts about training and strategy left me. I ran out of my apartment, with my only thought being that I had to get to her.

I had to get to Fiona.

* * *

><p>I sprinted out of my 17th floor apartment. I was glad that the door automatically locked and that I had the convenient forethought to put my keys in my pocket. The CIA wouldn't be too happy about me leaving my hiding spot, but there would be hell to pay if any of the thousands of dollars worth of equipment got stolen, due to my stupidity of not locking the door.<p>

But I knew even if I had left the door wide open, I wouldn't have gone back, not when Fiona was across the street in the arms of a murderous Spanish bastard.

I briefly entertained the idea of waiting for the elevator, but seeing the family of four in their beach attire nixed the idea immediately.

I pushed the door to the stair well open with a bang. I was jumping down entire flights of stairs. I used the hand painted floor numbers on the doors to fuel my speed.

Only fifteen more floors to go.

Seven more floors to go.

Two more flights of stairs.

As I got to the lobby I started pushing people out of the way**. **My mind was too jumbled to even remember the Spanish phrases of "excuse me," or even "move."

I just needed to get to her.

My heart was racing. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my body.

I ran out into the busy San Sebastian street. Car horns and rapid Spanish cursing followed me as I dodged and jumped over the incoming traffic.

I slid through the revolving door, my mind barely registering all the people I had just pushed out of the way.

Sixteen flights of stairs was all that stood between me and the women who had occupied my dreams for the past two years.

I made a beeline for the stair well entrance. I took the stairs three at a time. By the tenth floor the adrenaline started to wear off and I was having trouble breathing.

Fiona was here, in this building, with a disgusting pervert of a man.

Six more floors.

I was using the railing to pull me up the stairs.

My mind was going through all the possible scenarios.

All the worst case scenarios.

I would find her, lying in a pool of her own blood, Álvaro de Luna standing over her body, laughing, as I opened the door.

Four more floors.

Or she would be up against the wall, his hand at her throat, draining all the life saving oxygen from her body.

One more floor.

Or she would be underneath him, as he stole her body from her, in every despicable way imaginable.

Finally, I reached the sixteenth floor. Now, I just needed to get to room 1611, that's where she would be. One last quick burst of energy down the deserted hallway was all that stood between me and Fiona.

After what seemed like eternity, the door with the gold etchings of 1611 on it came into view.

Of course it was locked. I grabbed my nine millimeter, but thought better of just shooting through the door. Fiona could get caught in the cross hairs. I frantically started pounding my fists on the door but then switched to throwing my shoulder with all my strength into the unyielding door frame.

I stopped and put my hands on the door frame and hung my head. I should have thought this through, I should have conned housekeeping for a key, anything to get inside!

In my moment of silence, I heard footsteps from inside the room. The door handle turned. I pulled out the nine millimeter again, aiming it directly at the head of whoever was going to be inside. The door opened, and the man who stood in front of the barrel of my gun was not de Luna, or anyone else I had ever seen. He smirked at the gun not even a foot from his face and laughed as he began to speak.

"Well, Fiona, I guess I owe you twenty bucks. Four minutes and twenty seconds is quite a pace to get from the apartment across the street, and up and down all those stairs."

The unmistakable sound of a woman's heels was heard sauntering towards to apartment door from what I knew was the master bedroom.

"I told you Adams, you never underestimate Michael Westen, and more importantly, you never bet against a Glenanne."

She appeared in that moment. Her lithe body glided toward me, while I just stood there in an almost comatose state. She smiled at me, and nothing else existed. Not de Luna, not this Adams character, not the CIA. She pushed past Adams and stood directly in front of me.

Her left hand reached up to touch my chest and ghosted its way higher. I watched her face in that moment, as it went from a cool and confident smile in front of Adams, to one that was sad and thoughtful.

Her voice was quiet when she finally addressed me.

"Hi, Michael."

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><p>Author's Note: I'm sorry this update took so long. School has taken over my life.<p> 


	6. Rocky Beginnings, Again

~!*

Confusion was evident on his face. He clearly didn't know what to think of the situation.

It was understandable, I was just coming to terms with it myself.

He lifted both of his hands to cup my cheeks. I gasped at the feel of his hands. The feelings that I had buried, the feelings that I hadn't allowed myself to feel for two years came flooding back, washing over my skin like one of Michael's old shirts.

It was cheesy and cliché, but it was like everything was suddenly brighter, time had stopped and it was just me and him, standing in the doorway of an overpriced, Spanish hotel.

"We should get inside, I'll explain everything, Michael."

I broke eye contact with him them, took his hand and led him inside. We walked past the door to the bedroom where de Luna was "asleep" on the bed and Adams was working on hacking into de Luna's laptop. I led him over to the couch in the living room of the hotel suite. Only when we were sitting did I let go of his hand, and it was then that I started fidgeting with my dress. I had fantasized about seeing Michael every day for these last two year, planned out what I would say to him if I ever saw him again, and now, when he was sitting right in front of me, my mouth had dried up and I didn't know what to say.

"So…"

"I thought I would never see you again."

His words made me look up.

"I thought I would never see you again, and if I ever did see you again it would be behind a foggy glass wall speaking to you from a phone that smells like beer and you wearing an orange jump suit.

He wasn't looking at me now. His face no longer looked confused but had hardened and his eyes had taken on a sharp edge.

"And when I finally do see you, you are dressed in a thousand dollar dress on the arms of a despicable excuse for a man, whom I later come to assume is your mark, and you are betting on how long it takes me to come to your rescue! Fiona, where the hell have you been?! What is going on!?"

He was shaking, he was obviously angry, and truthfully he had every right to be. I didn't know where to start.

"Fiona, Michael, we have to go. I have the information and the extraction team is on the way. They'll be at the safe house in an hour."

Michael and I turned to look at Agent Adams. He was dressed in an unassuming tight fitting black t-shirt and dark washed jeans. In his time in Spain he had allowed the stubble on his chin to grow out a bit giving him a ruggedly handsome appearance. He put the jump drive with all of de Luna's information in his pocket and looked at his watch. He looked completely unperturbed by the situation in front of him.

I stood up then and looked at Michael still sitting on the couch.

"Please come with me, I promise I'll tell you everything"

I was so scared in that instance. Scared that he'd say no, that he would walk out on me. I knew he was mad at me but I needed him to understand. I pleaded with my eyes.

He looked back at me with his closed off Michael Westen intensity. He stood up slowly but never took his eyes off me. He still towered over me, even when I was in my four inch heels. I had never been intimidated by Michael but I was sure if he walked out on me now my heart would break right there in that hotel suite.

His frown lifted just a fraction after what I could only assume was a moment of torturous indecision. Adams must have noticed the miniscule movement as well because it was only after Michael had seemingly made his decision to come that Adams was gathering our supplies and making towards the door.

I let out the breath that I had been holding as Michael followed Adams out the door, towards the waiting car that would take us to the safehouse.

* * *

><p>Authors (terrified) note: So, it seems that I haven't updated in a VERY long time, and while this is a terrible form of an apology, I do promise that I haven't given up on this story. I'll also make a (tentative) promise to have this finished before the end of the season.<p> 


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